


Corsets and Knickers and Heels, Oh my!

by ashilrak



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Corset, Heels, Humour, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Sherlock looks really pretty, admiring of arse, invisiblesarcasm, it's always for a case, knickers, men in women's clothing, ribbon ignites John's fantasies, walking in heels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 06:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashilrak/pseuds/ashilrak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a very lovely artwork by the fantastic invisiblesarcasm on tumblr that I had the honour to view in a livestream.</p><p>Sherlock and John both got fitted at a men's lingerie shop.<br/>John forgot and Sherlock deleted it.</p><p>"I am proud to say that I have memorized the face that greeted me when I looked down. It was a beautiful thing made up of shock, lust, and rapidly fading anger. "</p>
            </blockquote>





	Corsets and Knickers and Heels, Oh my!

**Author's Note:**

> This was beta-ed by the absolutely wonderful ChalcedonyRivers

It was for a case.

It was _always_ for a case. Even when it wasn’t.

The main question now was, how? How could this and the case possibly be related to one another?

How could the murder of a strongly religious young woman possibly be related to corsetry?

I’m fairly positive that the woman in question has never seen a corset in her life – let alone one made especially for men. Actually, Sherlock’s wasn’t even made for a man. Mine was; I made sure of it.

Somehow, we had ended up in a lingerie shop that specialized in custom orders. Well, that was what it presented to the common public. To those more in the know, it actually specialized in the making of lingerie for _men_. I don’t know how we actually ended up in the shop; like I said the case was rather cut and dry.

Admittedly, Sherlock does have a certain look about him, but I’m still not exactly sure what immediately attracted the shop keeper to him. Of course, despite me explicitly stating otherwise, we might have appeared as a couple – considering the shop’s reputation.

Well, despite how it might have happened – we were being fitted for a corset, knickers, and deadly heeled shoes. Somehow, I had ended up with garters and stockings as well.

That was some time ago – I had forgotten about it. Sherlock appeared to have deleted it as well.

So, we were both quite surprised when a rather large box appeared on our doorstep addressed to Mr. and Mr. Holmes. I may have had a little bit of a fit at that – my name is Watson.

Though, considering the price of the contents it didn’t surprise me all that much. 

Looking into the box, everything suddenly came back. I didn’t know whether to feel excited or embarrassed, I settled for a combination of both. Inside the box were two corsets, two sets of knickers, two pairs of heels, and one set of stockings.

Sherlock, it seemed, had also remembered our experience at the shop. He sat there, staring into the box for about a minute or two before suddenly grabbing every purple item he could see.

Purple.

What was left in the box was apparently mine. There was a corset that was almost masculine in the cut, and seemingly styled after the shirt I wore the day we were fitted. It was black and white stripes with red trim. The panties matched, as did the red stockings. The shoes were slightly reminiscent of army boots, except instead of khaki they were red.

I grabbed the entire box and took it upstairs into my bedroom. Before I could even place it on my bed I heard my name being called. I followed the sound until I was standing outside Sherlock’s door.

The door was shut, so I lightly knocked. After receiving no reply, I walked in.

Sherlock was standing in the middle of the room in the heels and knickers. I may have stood there in surprise and lust, stammering and blushing for longer than I am willing to admit.

I lightly coughed.

He immediately turned around and his face showed an expression of relief.

 “I need you to lace this.”

In his hands were the corset and some very pretty ribbon.

It took a bit of time before words were actually able to be formed, “You should probably put that on before it can be laced.”

He stood there for a moment or two and then proceeded to arrange it properly. His hand was holding the corset in place, his other was holding out the ribbon.

I walked towards him and grabbed the ribbon and hurriedly gestured for him to turn around.

“I hope you know that I have no idea what I’m doing here.”

He made a slight sound, but no words were actually said. I took the ribbon and managed to lace it so it almost looked like it was supposed to. All that needed to be done now was to tighten it. I took a deep breath and tightened my grip of the ribbon in my hands and pulled. Sherlock stumbled and managed to spit out, “a little warning next time.”

Looking at the lacing, it appeared the top was still very loosely done, with only the very bottom being tight.  I let go of the ribbons and handed them to Sherlock to hold onto.

“Bend over a bit, will you?”

Ignoring my not quite unwelcome arousal, I looped my hands through the ribbon and the top and pulled so that each loop grew tighter and tighter as I made my way down. When I finally reached the end, I realized that I had a problem.

I didn’t know how to tie a perfect bow.

Knots were no problem, none at all. But knots were more for practicality than for anything else. Knots were not pretty.

Bows are pretty. Knots are not pretty. Sherlock in a corset is very pretty. He needed a bow.

“You can stand up now.”

Sherlock straightened up, and I backed away quickly. He was still holding the ribbons in his hands. I motioned for him to turn around. I admired both my handiwork and the gorgeous picture that Sherlock made in that ensemble.

I nodded, and then quickly bolted.

I walked up the stairs into my room, slammed the door and leaned against it.

Why did we do this?

Oh yes, because Sherlock enjoys my suffering.

I turned to look at the box holding the unmentionable things that were tailored to my measurements. Maybe Sherlock would like a taste of his own medicine.

Yes, he would.

I walk towards the bed and open the box and stare inside. There it is. I couldn’t believe I was actually doing this. Was I out of my mind when this happened?

My corset thankfully did not have to be laced up. It was to be buttoned up in the front. My buttons actually had a function, not like the decorations on Sherlock’s. I removed my jumper, shirt, and vest and managed to properly get the thing on.

I looked in the mirror: I certainly made a picture. I was wearing loose jeans, and a very fitted corset. So fitted that I could barely breathe, but it also wasn’t terribly uncomfortable. I looked into the box again and stared at the contents.

A man could only go so far.

But, revenge must be taken.

I made quick work of my trousers and pants. I hesitantly reached for the knickers.

I couldn’t believe I was actually doing this.

I put those on as well, and then grabbed the stockings and pulled those up to my mid-thigh. It was actually almost comfortable – in a, I really don’t give a shit sort of way.

I admired myself in the mirror again, and then looked at the shoes that were lying so innocently on the floor. My outfit was not complete without them.

But really – they made it difficult to maintain any sort of dignity.

I sat down on the bed with slight difficulty, pausing to look in the mirror again. ‘Damn, does this give me posture – I would make the Queen proud’, I thought.

I hesitantly laced up the boots, and buckled the tops. I stared down at my feet in wonder. These are not shoes a man is meant to wear. But, if Sherlock can pull them off, and he does – then I will prove to him that I can too.

I shakily stood up.

It’s not too bad, it’s somewhat solid. I bare my shoulder back and immediately notice a difference. It’s much steadier, and I don’t feel as if I’m going to topple over.

I take a step.

Okay, bad idea. Much different from walking in brogues.

How do women do it?

I remember always getting annoyed when my previous girlfriends complained about sore feet at the end of a night. I remember, always thinking ‘Why don’t you just wear a different pair of shoes?’

But, looking in the mirror, I realized two things. Not only do these shoes give you a feeling of confident sexiness, but they also give you the look of sexy confidence.

Damn did they make my legs and arse look good. I’ll have you know that I happen to have a very fine arse. Something that these striped knickers only helped to emphasize.

I took another step towards the door, and I stumbled.

Walking in these might take a bit of work.

I walked around my room, trying subtly different things every times I made a round. With a straight back, and your head held high, your balance is easier to maintain. Also, helps you look more confident. Don’t place entire foot down at one time. Heel toe. Heel toe. Heel toe. Smaller strides are key, as is speed. Strides too long are both unsteady and unattractive. The faster you go, the more you lose your step.

Steady. Calm. Balanced. Sexy. Confident.

Perfect.

Just as I was about to open my door, I heard my name called.

“Hold on.”

I made my way down the stairs and was suddenly faced with two realizations. One, I am suddenly much less confident than I was before, and two, walking down stairs is very different than walking around in circles on a flat surface.

Before I could go down another step, Sherlock was at the foot of the staircase. He still had the ribbon in his hands, except he was now wearing an expression that seemed quite frustrated.

I am proud to say that I have memorized the face that greeted me when I looked down. It was a beautiful thing made up of shock, lust, and rapidly fading anger.

Damn was it hot.

Sherlock apparently had forgotten what it was that he was about to say because he turned around and strutted away.

Yes, he strutted.

Before I could even begin to day dream about that particular swagger, he had returned. Except this time, his face was much more composed showing only a faint blush on his cheeks.

“There is no way that this is your first time wearing those shoes.” I said.

Really. He wore those shoes like that’s what he was made to do. No man, or woman for that matter, should be able to be that graceful  and delicious in those heels less than an hour after putting them on for the first time.

The look he gave me was one that I was much more accustomed to.

“Really, John. Do you think that this is the first time I’ve worn heels?”

Actually, as far as I knew, it was.

Apparently, according to the Great Sherlock Holmes, it was not the first time.

Before I could get a word in, Sherlock was making his way up the stairs.

“I’m not going to wait all day for you to get down there.”

Not speaking a word, I followed him into my bedroom. Once there, he stood right in front of the mirror. Watching Sherlock admire himself was truly a thing of beauty. He did all these lovely turns and pouts, that really, couldn’t be done justice. Neither could that arse.

I walked over until I was right next to him and put my hand on the small of his back, right above his very lovely bum. He was still holding the ribbons in both hands, which only spurned several fantasies of mine.

Fantasies which at this time I am not going to act on, because at this time, I was too busy admiring the very pretty picture we made.

**Author's Note:**

> The artwork that this piece is inspired by can be found here: http://invisiblesarcasm.tumblr.com/image/37598260863


End file.
